Last Spring I decided to write a poem for my school's talent show (singing was definitely out of the question!). When I asked one of my 3rd graders what I should write about, she said, "A painting, of course, Mr. Travers." So I did, and I'd like to share it with you.The first part of the poem describes the painting (very much like a "reading" of the painting). The second part describes personal recollections the scene evoked from my childhood.

I suggest you read the poem first, and try to imagine the scene in your mind's eye (you may even recognize the painting I'm describing). Then look at the painting itself, and see if it matches what you envisioned. At the very bottom is a little surprise that my parents helped dig up for me yesterday.

My Pirate of The Caribbean SeasA young boy sits in the seaside breeze.He looks frightened, ill at ease,As he listens clutching his kneesTo tales of a pirate from far off seas.The lad’s feathered cap is laid aside,He’s settled in for the story’s ride.And suddenly his emerald eyes widen,His straining knuckles whiten,As he hears of some terrible far-off Triton.His gazing green eyes Aren’t staring at the sea-touching skies.They’re drawn by the pirate’s face,And not to the pointing of the perilous place.They’re drawn to the Buccaneer,Who lived the tale he is making clear.Many years ago, I sat in the breezeOf a lonely island in the West Indies.My Papa wore a dagger strapped to his shin.He was now using it to slice off fish scale and fin.I can still see the sun glistening on his broad bronze back,As he prepared the fillets and threw them on the stack.Meanwhile, my uncle, my cousins, my father’s friendWould animatedly speak of their far-off adventuring…Caught in the middle of circling sharks.Or facing barracudas far from the barks.My dad, He was simply starting the fire’s sparks.And as I listened to the stories while sitting beneath the palm trees,My green eyes stared at the man who drank life to the lees--My dad, pirate of the Caribbean seas.

Who was your "pirate" as a kid? (The Boyhood of Raleigh, by John Everett Millais.)